


Wretched

by Dassandre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Depression, Heavy Angst, M/M, Q (James Bond) is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: It didn’t happen often.  At least not as often as it had done in his youth.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 13
Kudos: 140





	Wretched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



He watched the day pass as a slow migration of light that spilled through the gap in the blackout curtains.

Sometimes he slept, then woke to find the shape of the shadows entirely changed.

The physical ones, at least.

The night was ponderous ... neverending. The glow from the streetlamp below revealed nothing about the passage of time until fingertips of dawn lanced out across the sky, dimming its artificial glimmer.

Sleep eluded. 

But the shadows lay thick and heavy upon him.

He rose with the morning.

Pissed.

Drank some water.

Thought about eating.

Went back to bed, instead.

And watched the day pass as a slow migration of light that spilled through the gap in the blackout curtains.

It didn’t happen often. At least not as often as it had done in his youth. The right medication helped immensely.

But sometimes …

Sometimes …

His husband knew, but James was two months into a four-month deep-cover, no-contact assignment in La Paz.

So did Moneypenny. She was on holiday.

His family did. Not likely.

He’d felt it coming on these last weeks. His appetite waning. Fatigue that had nothing to do with his job. 

And he hurt. Christ! He hurt!

Inside and out.

He’d done all he could to avoid the train barreling toward him. He might as well have jumped onto the tracks for all the success he’d had at _that_.

When he started forgetting things, he knew it was time for him to take a holiday, too.

No one questioned it, his unexpected need for a week -- or more -- away. None of his colleagues could remember the last time he had taken so much as a long weekend. Much needed, they’d said. Long overdue! Practically pushed him out the door.

They didn’t need him.

“Do nothing! You’ve earned it! We’ll be fine. You’ve trained us well!”

They didn’t want him.

Useless.

Worthless.

He pulled the duvet up to his nose and eventually the streetlamp’s glow filled the room again.

Then dawn returned. 

He pissed again.

Drank some more water.

Thought about eating.

Crawled back to bed.

He missed James. The way he pressed kisses into his hair and held him close when he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He was probably never coming back. Why would he want to be with such a mess? 

He missed Cricket. The way she curled up against the crook of his neck, her soothing purr so strong he felt it down to his toes. She was never coming back. Her cancer and his decision.

Murderer.

Not just Cricket.

He rolled away from the window.

The streetlamp’s glow greeted him when he woke again.

The shadows did, too.

He was alone.

Utterly.

Hopeless.

Another day.

Another night.

Another -- 

A heavy weight resting on the mattress next to him.

Fingers carding through his hair.

Patchouli and heavy wool filling his nose.

His head felt like a boulder on his neck, but he eventually managed to lift it to look into a pair of familiar eyes. They were grey today. 

Serious. Worried.

“You’re not alone, little brother. I’m here.”

Q curled into Sherlock’s side and cried.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be welcomed just now. 🙂


End file.
